Nostalgia
by Blue3
Summary: He can't look Sora in the eye anymore. Implied RikuRoku.


—

He used to stare at Kairi a lot. He used to look at her, glance at her every other turn, hoping that she would look back, that maybe she would look back and smile or blush and maybe, just _maybe…_But that was a long time ago. That was back in the _old days_.

And with bitter feeling, he realizes that there is an "_old days_", that there is a time when things were happy, things were smooth and friendship had been enough, when things were _different_. (He suddenly hates the word, feeling a sour taste in his mouth.)

And then, he starts to wonder: whatwas different, _what had changed?_

(He still stares at Kairi a lot, and he knows **he will always love her** for who she was, who she is, and who she will be, **no matter what**, and yet, when he looks at her now he finds himself searching, searching for reserved hands, searching for veiled blue eyes, for a _smile, _searching for a girl he used to know, a shadow named Namine. And what scares him is that he finds what's looking for.)

He wonders if it's just him. Maybe.

—

He used to be able to look Sora in the eyes. He remembers how he would engage in staring contests with Sora, just _staring_ and _staring_ and **_staring him down_**. And he always won. **Always.**

But now when he looks at Sora, all he sees is angry, narrowed eyes, and _conviction _ and **determination** and just plain absolute belief, belief that _he _was someone...He remembers stumbling upon _him_, upon Roxas, he remembers fighting him with him and then against him and remembers those words, those words that he **cannot forget**.

(_"I'm myself! I'm me!"_)

And he hated it, Riku hated it so much how this copy, this fake, this _Nobody_ was _so s_u_re _of who he is, so accepting and…he was jealous. How was this boy able to accept his being, his darkness, so easily? Why? Why? **_Why?_**

And he recalls how the question obsessed him to no ends. And it still does, because when he looks in Sora's eyes, all he can see is Roxas, and somehow, he knows that the boy, that kid, that _person_ will never be a Nobody.

At least not to him.

—

He used to be able to sleep. Sleep was always the best part of the day, where he could just flop down and laze around and just…rest. Relax. Sleep and let it all go away because hey, there is another day on the horizon, _who cares_?

But now he's having dreams, dreams of a silent beach with no wind, dreams of a heart shaped moon hanging over him as darkness consumes him, dreams of a someone he once knew, no, someone he wished he knew, someone…Someone. **Just someone**.

And sometimes that someone (_He has a name, _his mind whispers. _He has a name, and it's Roxas, not Sora's Nobody, not XIII, it's Roxas_) is walking away from him, sometimes he's right next to him, sometimes he's staring right into his eyes, sometimes he's not **even there**…and sometimes he's in his arms. Sometimes he's in his arms and is holding onto him and his hands are so cold, so so cold, and there's no heartbeat beating against him, but his lips, the lips that would brush across his so lightly, so softly almost as if he isn't there, his lips are so warm, just so warm _and alive…_

And sometimes he would just talk to him, just saying words to fill up the silence and it's nothing important at all, and he would ask, "Why are you always here?" And the answers would change all the time. Sometimes it's, "Maybe it's fate" (and he would then smile, a sad half smile). Sometimes it's, "Luke, I'm your father" (he says with a smirk, with a cheeky grin, with a straight face).

And sometimes it's just, "Why are _you_?"

And then he would wake up, unable to give an answer. Though it's not like he had an answer to give.

—

He used to be able to look at himself in the mirror. In fact, he sometimes would pose in front of it, talk to it as if it was Kairi or some other girl (though he can't remember if there ever was another girl), and would just look and smile at his beautiful, gorgeous self. (He might have been a bit of a narcissist.)

But that was long ago.

That was back in the _old days_, before he got off the island, before he knew of the Heartless, before he met _him_, before **he changed**.

He _has changed_, he is **different**, and now all he can wonder is what happened, what went wrong, _why?_

He used to be able to look at himself in the mirror.

But now, all he sees is guilt.

—


End file.
